


Part of Something Bigger

by no_loose_wire_jokes



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Devoted Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Everyone handles her death differently, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Ghost Rey, Force Ghost(s), Happy Skywalker Family, Married Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Meant to be read as Poetry, No one in this story was ready for Force ghost Rey, Old Age, Old Reylo, Parents Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Poetry, Rey Solo, Rey dies before Ben does, Reylo - Freeform, honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-28 19:01:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20971484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/no_loose_wire_jokes/pseuds/no_loose_wire_jokes
Summary: For the most part, the day Rey Solo died was quiet.The ones who knew her the longest, knew her the best, all walked, clumped right behind the repulsor that slowly sailed over the cobbled stone. Her closest friends, her children, her grandchildren. But only one, walked directly beside it.Her husband, Ben Solo, clutching her hand all the way.





	Part of Something Bigger

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone. This short little one shot was inspired by some of the angsty romance poetry I've been reading in English class. The tags say to read this as poetry, and honestly, if you read this slower and look for the meaning in the words, it will probably make this 10x more enjoyable. (And 10x more angsty) Lmao. 
> 
> I'm still learning in the world of writing so if you enjoy this fic, please be sure to leave a kudos and/or a comment below. Any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Thanks for being here and enjoy!  
Love Deela.

For the most part, the day Rey Solo died was quiet. 

As her body was paraded down the streets of Naboo, the only sounds were whispers of weeping. The ones who knew her the longest, knew her the best, all walked, clumped right behind the repulsor that slowly sailed over the cobbled stone. Her closest friends, her children, her grandchildren. But only one, walked directly beside it.

Her husband, Ben Solo, clutching her hand all the way. 

She died young in an age of such medical technologies. Some blame it on the blistering heat of Jakku, the starvation she suffered throughout her development. Others say it was the torture she experienced at the hands of Snoke and Palpatine, the Force and lightning destroying her body from the inside out. Those who knew her best say she stressed herself to death, but frankly, it doesn’t matter. 

What matters now is that she’s a part of something bigger. 

The weeks following were hard for most. Her greatest friends from the Resistance, now important members of the New Republic, took time off to grieve, maybe to ponder their own mortality, who knows.

Poe would sit in the same spot of their favourite bar, the now empty spot directly to his right a sour reminder. Almost as sour as that bourbon she liked from Ord Mandell. 

Rose would decommission old TIEs by herself, sometimes forgetting not to ask for that wrench by her foot to midair. She started using that wheeled rolling plank that her friend liked so much so she could easily grab things herself.

Finn would watch repulser races from the mountain top overlooking the stadium, the checkers of her favourite blanket staring up at him from where she’d sit. He began to bet on the underdog because “if I didn’t, then no one else would. And who’s going to encourage this kid to follow their dreams if not the random, anonymous bettor who placed credits on their pod”. 

Her children, all four of them, would gather and do random activities from their childhood. Things that reminded them of her. Painting and gardening, even though she was admittedly terrible at both, simply to teach them as children that to get better at something, you must persevere. 

But most oddly of all, her husband, Ben, didn’t do anything, really. His daughters would come by in the afternoons adorning baked goods or handmade photo albums - a classic tradition started by their mother - to talk and make sure he was alright. And his sons would drop by in the evening, sometimes restocking his supply of Corellian whiskey but most times sitting in silence, watching the nunaball game over the holoprojector. 

But every sunset, like clockwork, he would grab a Jedi text from the small temple they started together, the newly appointed Grey Knights never commenting on his daily kleptomaniacy, and slowly head down to the white sands of the beach. It was her favourite place; the sand was a reminder of where she started but the water was a reminder of what she made for herself. 

The soothing melody of the waves would encourage him as he slowly sat down in the sand, his old bones creaking in protest. As soon as he found himself comfortable, before him he would lay his lightsaber, hers right beside it, and then spread the text upon his lap as he slowly read aloud to himself. 

Some called him crazy, some called him heartbroken, some said he was just a scholar at nature. But anyone who bothered to look hard enough, or listen closely enough, would realize that his conversations were never actually one-sided. 

One evening, as the purple, dusking clouds settled over the sinking sun, all four of his children crowded and cuddled around him as he closed the book upon his thighs. Each of his breaths were long and laborious, and yet fulfilling, as his eyes closed and a smile graced his wizened features. “She has finally completed her training,” he murmured, his meaning not lost on his Force-sensitive children. 

For the most part, the day Ben Solo died was quiet. 

As his body was paraded down the streets of Naboo, not a sound was made, not even a peep. Even the ones who knew him the longest, knew him the best, stopped and stared, watching the repulsor that slowly sailed over the cobbled stone. Only one, walked directly beside it.

His wife, Rey Solo, clutching his hand all the way.

Her body glowed in an angelic blue light. Each of her steps, light as air, never making a noise upon the weathered stone of the street. Her slim, yet powerful body adorned the grey robes she frequented at the end of the war and her young facial features never faltered in their smile as she confidently strode beside her husband’s casket.

She made sure and powerful eye contact with everyone who looked upon her. The love and hope displayed behind her deep, deep eyes conveyed more meaning than any words ever could. To each one of her friends, her children, and her grandchildren, her eyes showed her love and somehow said, “Don’t worry, we’ll see each other again.”

Some say Ben Solo died of heartbreak, others say it was years of ruthless war that tore years off his life. Most just blame old age, but frankly, it doesn’t matter.

What matters now is that they’re together, and together, they are a part of something bigger. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter at Bendemptionist


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